The Thick and The Thin
by Goose41
Summary: A case may bring Angie back, but what makes her stay?
1. Chapter 1

**The Thick and The Thin**

_Goose41_

Summary: A case may bring Angie back, but what makes her stay?

Author's Note: Neither the characters nor the premise upon which they are based belong to me.  
I'm merely using them to entertain myself and others.

Pairing: Venn - Oscar Vega/Angie Flynn

Category: Angst &amp; Hurt/Comfort

Rating: Let's be honest, teens know more than adults about this stuff.  
For reader's sake: Mature (Note: Injuries and some...um...fun later)

* * *

Maybe that's why we try

Maybe that's why we fight

Maybe that's why we give it all

To keep this love alive

Maybe that's why we try

"Why We Try"  
Matthew Mayfield ft. Chelsea Lankes

* * *

When she arrives at a crime scene for the first time in months, he almost forgets to breathe; lungs seizing the moment she appears. Nostalgia hangs heavy with intimate memories marred by a violation of trust and stained deeply from too many words left unspoken. Her unexpected presence makes him anxious, and he briefly entertains the thought that his ribcage must be stronger than fortified steel for its ability to restrain his erratic heartbeat.

He is acutely aware of how he's missed the way his stomach trips over itself trying to keep up with her, and yet her sudden arrival stings like swift kick to his chest. It's simple and it's familiar, how her eyes brighten when they meet his, which somehow makes it all the more painful. Maybe this case is a chance to regain their rhythm after months apart. Her presence or her absence, each vying for his attention.

"Hey," she greets him softly, and the sound seems oddly foreign to his ears. "Can we talk? Not now, obviously," nervously continuing while toying with the ring around her finger, "but, you know, maybe -,"

Tucking his chin against his chest, Vega just stares wordlessly as she stutters through her request. "Later," he offers in hushed tones, with the slightest gesture of approval.

Nodding down to Betty as the redhead motions toward them, Angie slips her fingers into her back pocket to retrieve a pair of gloves while folding herself under the tape. "What's on the menu, Doc?" Angie asks, playfully smirking at him as she exhales into the rubber. Balloon fingers inflate gently until Vega reaches over to squeeze the glove, forcing Angie's breath back into her frowning mouth.

Betty observes them closely, somewhat taken aback by Angie's antics, which seem all too genial for her comfort. "I can't say for certain until I get her back to the lab, but she may have been raped like the others," the redhead gestures in a circular motion with the end of her ballpoint pen.

The victim's cloudy blue eyes stare up coldly into the canopy of maple and pine branches from beneath a swath of blonde wavy bangs. Save for the bruising across the cheekbones and encircling her wrists, the deceased displays no other immediate signs of foul play.

Cautiously stepping around the victim's long legs, Vega inspects his surroundings carefully. "Let me guess - No ID?"

"It's almost like you've done this before, Detective," Betty counters with a playful wink, bracelets tinkling softly as she makes a few more notes to her clipboard.

"I'll do you one better. Would you ever go on a hiking trip without proper footwear?" Vega asks, gesturing towards the conservative slip-ons adorning the victim's feet with his chin. Neither the cardigan, nor the slacks have stains other than traces of the surrounding dirt to hint at a struggle, suggesting her current location is merely a dumping ground.

"What makes you think I would ever go hiking?" Angie scoffs, before worrying her bottom lip in frustration. "Same body type; same MO; so this one makes three," glancing up to see them staring back at her.

In silent agreement with one another, Betty frowns as she peers down at the latest victim. "Three doesn't exactly strike me as a very lucky number anymore," the doctor remarks sadly.

The quietus of the daybreak is interrupted by faint chime causing the colleagues to exchange glances. A wave of dread sweeps down the length of her spine as Angie retrieves her mobile and reads the incoming message from an unknown number. Angst swells up on her like a tsunami, face awash in a blue tint, as she stands to walk away.

"Angie," Oscar speaks quietly as Betty turns to the crew of assistants. Trudging back up the hill behind her, he knows she's listening, but stays quiet a moment more until they no longer have an audience. The tenor of his whisper sends shivers down her spine. Without warning, her mind gets defensive as irrational thoughts scream out to her. She recognized some similarities back with their first victim, which has since grown into more than a simple coincidence. She doesn't need anyone pointing it out to her.

She comes to a stop by the hood of her Oldsmobile at the edge of the path before being overwhelmed with emotion. Angie exhales deeply, as if trying to expel the stale air out of her lungs as far away as possible. Almost as if she can erase the images in her mind by blowing them away like a dandelion seed. Under his scrutiny, she can feel Vega's gaze linger on her shuddering shoulders; observing silently while her chest rises and falls in an attempt to steady her anxious breathing. The only interruptions of her breathing are the pop and hiss of her cooling engine.

Against the vehicle's side panel, still radiating traces of heat from within, Vega leans back with folded arms across his chest as he stares down at a small stone he kicks from the trail. "Who is it?" he asks, referring to the message on the device gripped tightly against her palm. Reaching out to gently pry the phone away, it is as if the phone itself arcs a jolt of terror from her veins to his as his fingertips ghost across her wrist.

An unexpected anger flares up in Vega, standing by helplessly as Angie wrestles with swells of emotion. "It's not your fault," he mumbles as if speaking to the soles of his shoes. He can't safeguard her from her own thoughts, keep her vulnerabilities at bay. At this point, he's not sure what frustrates him more - his inability to help her or the fact that he still feels compelled to protect her after all she's put him through.

A hollow clang echoes as she slams her clenched fist on the hood of her car before turning back to look at her partner, echoing with the somber laugh that escapes from Angie's lips as she shakes her head in disagreement, "Like hell it's not."

Barely flinching as she growls, Vega swallows thickly as he witnesses how heavily she shoulders this responsibility. "We'll get him," he promises, watching as Betty finishes zipping the large body bag up over the face of their latest victim.

"Really? When, Vega?" Angie's frustration boils from within. "This woman now makes three."

Standing to his full height, Vega's head bobs in silent acknowledgement. Brushing his fingertips across her elbow in silent consolation before extending his open palm in Angie's direction, he wordlessly asks for her keys as her chest continues to heave. She likes power. She thrives off of having control. But right now, she has neither and he's not going to stand by while she recklessly endangers her life behind the wheel of a two-ton vehicle.

* * *

A mid afternoon lull blankets the precinct, broken only by the occasionally muted chatter amidst their colleagues, as Vega sits shoulder to shoulder with Angie in front of the evidence board. For detectives and police officers, their colleagues are hardly discreet with thinly veiled murmurs of her return. Other than appearance, there seems to be no connection between their victims. The only connection he can focus on is the light brush of her elbow against his as she fidgets beside him.

Upon arriving to the precinct, Angie turned over her phone to the tech unit to retrieve any possible data transmitted earlier. The message could only be traced to a burner phone, sufficiently rendering the device void of any possible information. Out of the corner of his eye, Vega watches a dry erase marker strain in Angie's grip, knuckles white with frustration. As it is, she's exhausted, and quickly becoming agitated.

She wishes the synapses in her brain would fire more smoothly, even leave streamers in her mind so she can follow one train of thought as it trails across and connects with another. The steady beat of the cap snapping on and off help to calm her frayed nerves, a soothing repetition that accompanies her numerous dead-end theories.

"Julia Deane!" an all too chipper voice announces from behind the partners as Lucas enters the bullpen. Setting a tray of take-out cups upon the edge of the nearby desk, he steps around Vega to tape a Xerox copy of an online profile to the board beneath victim number three's head shot.

Turning back to face the two more experienced detectives, Lucas' grin falters upon meeting Angie's gaze before widening confidently. Exchanging a tired look with one another before returning their attention towards him, Vega drums his fingertips against his chin as they wait.

"And...?" Angie finally prompts impatiently.

The grin begins to fade from Lucas' profile as he glances at the board behind him quickly, realizing that he's forgotten to announce some integral information. "And...," he draws out nervously. "UBC grad, toxicology department in the crime lab, recently turned twenty-six last month. Coffee, Detective?" he offers to her, subtly stepping back.

"Much better. Thank you, Lucas," Vega commends the proud young man. Standing to inspect the document closer and accept the beverage, he lightly claps a broad palm across Lucas' shoulder in encouragement to help shake his nerves loose.

Eager. Zealous. Budding with potential. Lucas was going to make a fine detective someday. As soon as he learned how to harness his energy and enthusiasm. And despite the offering, Angie picks up on the younger detective's uncertainty. If she were being honest, she's waiting for someone to tell her she's no longer welcome.

Angie lets her palm mold around the coffee as she accepts the remaining cup from the outstretched hand as he bounces on the balls of his feet. Tucking the offering in close, Angie's eyelids flutter closed as the aroma and warmth radiate through her. It's not much in the way of consolation, but she'll gladly accept any semblance of comfort.

Teasingly, Vega's voice, light with an echo of laughter, breaks through her mental fog. "Would you two like a room?"

"The Honeymoon suite, actually. Preferably with a view of the ocean," Angie counters smartly. She doesn't say anything more, but his lighthearted jokes have always had a soothing effect.

"Only the best for you," he shoots back with a soft smile that makes her stomach flutter. "In the mean time, what's the affiliation between Deane," Oscar asks as he points to each of the head shots, "Schmidt, and Milton?"

The physical correlation between the victims was obvious. Blonde. Blue eyes. Tall and slender. Quite frankly, Angie could have been looking in the mirror. The women on the board could have legitimately passed for sisters.

"If I didn't know any better, they could be related," Lucas chimes in. "Obviously not legally, but...well...yeah," he trails off with a tone of doubt.

Almost immediately, the connections that Angie had been taxing her mind so hard to notice suddenly became clear. "Wait. What did you say?" she asks as she jumps from her chair, wheels scraping the tile under the unexpected movement. Mentally kicking herself, she has to shelve her pity party until later.

Taken aback by her agitation, Lucas stands quietly as his mouth struggles to find the words. Fortunately, Oscar steps in to assist the floundering detective. "Related?"

The words spill forth from Angie's mouth in a rush. "No, no. The other thing," she replies as she bounces off of her partner in a flurry of uncoordinated movement.

Popping the marker's cap off between her teeth, she moves across the evidence board quickly as she scans the information under each victim quickly, putting an asterisk next to items of importance. Bright eyes dance back and forth in rapid movement as everything falls into place. The thrill found in successfully completing a puzzle is at her fingertips.

"Ea-uhl!" Angie grunts incoherently, as her tongue undulates around the black cap still held within her teeth. Rotating the cap towards the front of her mouth, she's unable to retrieve the offending object with her hands full as she draws lines from one victim to the next.

Keenly aware of the struggle before him, Oscar reaches over to Angie's lips to rescue the marker's top. Shivering as her tongue brushes against the pad of his thumb; he nervously attempts to disguise his flustered expression by rolling his eyes and wipes the item off on his pant leg. He diverts the attention back to her upon rediscovering his strained voice; "Want to try that again, Chewbacca?"

"Legal," Angie tries once more. Witnessing her partner's veiled attempts to school his reaction to her touch causes her stomach to tighten. Blinking out of her daze, her scattered thoughts come rushing back. "Milton worked security at Blenheim Court Apartments; Schmidt was the responding park ranger to her dump site..."

The connection is seamless as her thought process is wordlessly broadcast to her partner, who effortlessly picks up on the loose end. "And now there's Deane, the toxicologist. Maybe she found something," Oscar concludes in hushed tones.

Snatching the case files of the victims off of her desk, Angie impatiently thrusts one into each of the men's hands. "We're looking for anything that stands out in the reports. Something, anything, that could have been easily overlooked the first time," she orders as she dials the extension for the lab downstairs. Her anxiety mounts as the phone continues to trill in her ear as no one answers.

Their close proximity is enough to make Vega's nerves tingle from Angie's nervous energy. A mere few inches away, he feels her huff of frustration as the sound meets his ears. The phone is down and she's broken into a jog down to the lab before he can stop her.

Seconds crawl by while the men scour the information in front of them for any perceptible evidence. The formulas and compounds jumble in Lucas' brain as he reads the report as if it is written in a foreign language. "High amounts of caffeine, choline, and suc-," Lucas stutters, frowning at a page of results in his hand as he stumbles over another chemical.

"Succinic acid is elevated for Milton, too." Papers flutter haphazardly as Vega carelessly tosses the file towards his desk in his rush to catch up with Angie. Unwilling to wait for the elevator to return, he detours to descend down the stairs to meet her at the lab, unable to get to her fast enough.

* * *

Rushing out of the elevator, Angie stops to check about getting her phone back from the tech department. Admittedly, she feels a little lost without it, even if she doesn't understand half of its features, because of the simple fact that it helps her keep in touch with her son.

She doesn't want to worry Manny, but this case has her on edge and she feels the strong urge to reach out to him. There's been a hollow ache in her chest since he's been away as she wrestles with loneliness. It feels strange to be alone, and even more strange that she's bothered by it.

"Making any progress?" she asks when the lab assistant offers her a small wave.

A wave of confusion crosses over the shy assistant's face as Angie enters the sanctuary of his lab. "Um, no," he replies quickly. "I passed your phone off to Dr. Rogers. She offered to return it to you; said she was headed your way."

"Oh, thanks," Angie shrugs as heads down to the morgue in search of her friend. Poking her head around the steel-plate doors, she cringes upon watching as the doctor dives wrist deep into the chest cavity of their latest victim, returning bloodstained organs to their proper place.

"I can hear your grimace from here," Betty calls out to her, "come on in."

Sliding up beside the examination table, Angie watches intently as Betty sutures the chest closed with endless loops of stitching. The motion is hypnotic, repetitive as the doctor pulls a loop tightly against the skin, mindful not to tangle the thread as she pulls it up and away, and then plunges the needle back under the flesh. Angie briefly catches herself wondering if it is creepy that she finds some solace in the literal closure.

"Did you come downstairs to watch me work, or did you actually need something?" the redhead questions in forced amusement, knotting the end of her thread. For some reason, the joke feels contrived.

Shaken from her reverie, Angie blinks for a moment. "My phone," she states, "do you have it?" Peeking up at her friend, she watches as the only answer she receives from the ME is a tense nod towards the back of the room. Under the harsh lamp overhead, sharp shadows accentuate the doctor's deep frown. Stepping around the gurney, the tension hangs thick as she keeps a close eye on Betty, watching as she finishes with the body and heads towards the sink to wash away the death.

"It's on the back counter. While you're here, I have to ask...how long do you plan on sticking this one out?" Betty finally asks the unspoken question. As usual, she's blunt and to the point. "You know, so I don't get too attached before my best friend decides she is ready to give up and leave again," she adds.

Angie's bright blue eyes briefly widen in surprise before her gaze lowers in shame. The wave of guilt is immediate, assaulting her without warning, in light of the inquisition. She should have known she could count on Betty put her in her place. "Not give up; I had to let go of what held me down," she responds hoarsely as her vocal cords tighten with unshed tears. "I didn't want...I never meant to hurt anyone, but I did, which is why I had to leave."

Rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh, Betty feels incredibly torn. Her best friend endured the repercussions of a horrific mistake, and the aftershocks had reverberated through everyone around her. "Angie, you have no idea, do you? You left to protect us, to protect him," the doctor declares with a pointed look, "but all it did was cause more pain. I'm sorry, but you can't just 'let go', and not expect for us not to be hurt," words seething as she brushes past and through the door without another word.

For the first time in her adult life, Angie realizes how it feels to play the waiting game, rather than her friends chasing after her. Betty has often been her sounding board, but never once told her off so harshly. She's certain Lucas has no idea how to process her presence, and Oscar - God, she's been absolutely horrendous to him. The mercy he's shown is the closest thing to a religious experience she's had in a long time.

The still of the morgue allows for a moment of reprieve from the others, but certainly not away from her her conscience as it heavily condemns her, berating her for being a horrible excuse for a friend. Darkened edges of the room surround her, trapping her alone in an overturned bowl with only her thoughts of her best friend. She wants him to yell at her, utter nasty truths to her as he breaks anything fragile, to break the facade that masks the wounds she knows she's inflicted with her own words.

Groaning under the weight of the stainless steel door, Angie hears the hinges protest with her back turned, sighting deeply as she prepares for another emotional battle. Clapping the flat face of her phone's display against the palm of her hand and struggling to find just the right words, she finally decides to keep it simple as she swallows thickly. "No more excuses," she sighs, emboldened with her back turned.

Goosebumps race down and across her skin as she listens to the echo of light footfall approaching. Without warning, a tight grip upon her wrist sends her spinning; her phone skittering across the tile as she stumbles into Betty's desk and attempts to regain her footing. Hissing loudly against the pain, Angie flicks her head back in time to recognize the face of Drew Taylor, a trusted city employee and affiliate of the department in the crime lab. Angie struggles to fill her lungs with quick, shallow breaths, chest tightening upon acknowledging her assailant. Their movement has spun her so that her back is to the door, and she can just make out Vega's face upon the display beneath a spider web of cracks branching across her phone's display as it momentarily buzzes with life.

"Detective Vega, how nice of you to join us," Taylor sneers over Angie's shoulder as he kicks her phone closer to him across the floor, blindly crushing it beneath his heel. Playing with the safety on the pistol gripped tightly in his fist, Taylor trains his weapon on Angie's face before continuing; "Pull up a chair; I know you're dying to know why I did it." Confidence radiates from Taylor as his lips curl in amusement at his morbid joke.

"Believe me, I'm not going anywhere," Vega confirms as he steps up beside Angie, fingertips ghosting across the small of her back. The touch is feather light, and she briefly wonders if she's imagined it, but the unexpected contact makes Angie jump, mind reeling with guilt while her heart beat roars in her ears. The frightened detective's movement seems to startle Taylor, and Angie has no time to react before she catches a glint of silver in the faint light as Taylor's fist recoils, then swings back against her partner's face with a sickening thwack. Choking back a gasp as she sees his face explode into a flash of crimson, Angie pants in fear, unsure how he miraculously remains conscious despite falling upon his knees.

It takes all of her willpower to fight against the instinct to reach out to him, and help him to his feet. The next few minutes stretch on for an unbearably long period of time, broken only by the labored breathing of their oppressor and his victims. Watching intently as her partner attempts to regain his bearings, Angie's nerves come alive as he climbs her frame like a ladder in a strained effort to steady himself. Still bent at the waist, she chokes back a sob as she watches ribbons of blood curl around the ridges and creases of his knuckles as he coughs violently. Angie's attention is no longer trained on their tormentor, distracted as her clumsy fingers tangle in his shirt, then down across his crouched back.

A sinister laugh overlaps the muffled breathing as Drew Taylor's agitation bubbles to the surface while watching the two detectives. "This is why I killed the others," he announces, gesturing to the contact between the partners. "If I couldn't have you, I thought maybe I could settle for the others. But they just weren't you," he explains as he glares at Angie; "They were easy targets, and were supposed to bring you back to me."

With a tiny pang of guilt, a fleeting moment passes where Angie genuinely feels like Taylor could be the most prominent victim. She quickly realizes, however, the only capacity in which she knew him was the passing irregularity in which they would briefly interact at a crime scene or in the lab. In spite of his delusions, she never once had an opportunity to lead this man on.

"Succinylcholine is a wonderful drug, Detective Flynn, metabolizing nicely so as not to arouse too much suspicion. As a paralytic, the drug did all the hard work for me against those women as their own bodies killed them," the killer continued, smirking wistfully as he recalled his conquests. Lifting his gun to aim at Angie's chest, he lowers his steely gaze to stare down the barrel as his finger twitches near the trigger.

Frozen with fear, Angie briefly wonders if this is anything like how the victims felt when they realized they couldn't fight back. Clenching her eyelids closed tightly, her heart beat roars in her ears while she wonders if the drug rendered the victims unconscious before their imminent demise so they did not have to endure the unwelcome sting of death.

* * *

**Hope you're willing to stay tuned...**

**More to be posted when I get another free minute. Have a good one, folks. Enjoy the premiere, Canada!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Thick and The Thin**

_Goose41_

Summary: A case may bring Angie back, but what makes her stay?

Author's Note: Neither the characters nor the premise upon which they are based belong to me.  
I'm merely using them to entertain myself and others.

Pairing: Venn - Oscar Vega/Angie Flynn

Category: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: Let's be honest, teens know more than adults about this stuff.  
For reader's sake: Mature (Note: Injuries and some fun)

* * *

Maybe you're all that I need

I feel it when you're holding me

Everything you and I have got

It takes so long to find

Maybe that's why we try

"Why We Try"  
Matthew Mayfield ft. Chelsea Lankes

* * *

**_Previously:_**_"Succinylcholine is a wonderful drug, Detective Flynn, metabolizing nicely so as not to arouse too much suspicion. As a paralytic, the drug did all the hard work for me against those women as their own bodies killed them," the killer continued, smirking wistfully as he recalled his conquests. Lifting his gun to aim at Angie's chest, he lowers his steely gaze to stare down the barrel as his finger twitches near the trigger._

_Frozen with fear, Angie briefly wonders if this is anything like how the victims felt when they realized they couldn't fight back. Clenching her eyelids closed tightly, her heart beat roars in her ears while she wonders if the drug rendered the victims unconscious before their imminent demise so they did not have to endure the unwelcome sting of death._

* * *

The metallic taste of adrenaline rises in Vega's throat, nearly indistinguishable as it blends with the blood lingering at the back of his tongue. There is no good timing, no opening; he just knows he can't wait for a distraction. Everything seems to move in slow motion as Vega barrels into their attacker, the loud echo of the pistol's discharge ringing in his ears.

The momentum jolts his concussed brain, his world spinning as he fights against gravity and the gunman, dragging their assailant down with him. He is fully prepared for a stray bullet to bite through Angie's flesh and gnaw deeper through her until she has been torn apart.

Terror and shock momentarily keep Angie rooted in place before she springs into action, leaping over the tangle of limbs, following the gun as it slides across the tiles floor. Gripping the handle tightly as her heart pounds against her chest in an attempt to escape the confines of her ribcage, she hurriedly fires the weapon with sweaty palms and shaky limbs.

The gunshot thunders around them as a wave of nausea floods her system; leaves her choking back a reflux of bile when the skirmish in front of her stills. Rushing forward, Angie drops to her knees to untangle their suspect from her partner, whose chest remains unsettlingly still. Crashing her into the heap of limbs as she slides across the tile, her fingers seek out the weak and thready pulse.

The jarring of his body startles him into breathing, chest burning against the sharp inhalation while tensing in discomfort. "Vega -," Angie rasps. "Oscar," brushing her lips across his clammy forehead as she says his name aloud. Groaning loudly, tension releases upon feeling the warmth of Angie's hand settle across his chest, counting the beats one by one as evidence that he's still alive. Without looking, he holds an unsteady hand out to her until she grasps it within her own, palms fused together tightly.

Angie wants to cry. She can't muster the energy, but wants to pour out as much frustration and anguish and relief as she can into those tears. She feels herself listing, her mind drifting out into an abyss of numb as she attempts to divorce from the horrific memories of this day, but the solid weight of his hand in hers tethers her to the present. A change in pressure jolts her focus, her gaze drifting from his concerned expression to their hands as his fingertips trail down slightly from her palm, down the angry red scratches around her wrist. Her flesh tingles under his touch, traces of discomfort melting away beneath the gentle stroke.

"Sorry," he apologizes softly.

"No - no, it's -," Angie tries to assuage his concern just as Betty comes running back into the morgue, unwittingly disrupting her train of thought. Withdrawing her wrist as if he's burned her, she blinks back stubborn tears that threaten to fall as the doctor approaches them.

Scooting back a few feet, Angie's frown deepens as Betty quickly pulls a penlight from a top desk drawer and helps her partner sit up. Something akin to jealousy stirs deep within her gut at their close proximity, fiery red tipped strands brushing over Vega's shoulder as her friend leans in close to inspect the severity of his facial wounds.

The bright light causes the injured man to flinch, his dark eyes cutting over towards Angie before Betty's grip under his chin guides his face back towards her. "Oh, Oscar...," she sighs, trailing her thumb down the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid the deep laceration near his left eye; "You're going to need to get this reset at the hospital -,"

"I'm not going to the hospital," Vega asserts quickly, jaw tightening against the dull throb that has settled into constant ebbing behind his eyelids. The steady drumming makes his eyes water. "You can do it..."

"I work on dead bodies, sweetie," Betty responds, her thumb continuing its path underneath his increasingly darkening eye socket. "The hospital can provide meds for the pain once it's set," she explains; nails brushing against his temple in a gesture that strikes Angie as being vaguely intimate.

"Please, Betty; I just want to go home," he protests weakly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline subsides.

Apprehensively, Angie reaches for his hand when Betty begrudgingly consents. Her skin burns at the points of contact where his fingertips dig into the back of her palm as if he's afraid she'll disappear on him all over again. The pain is a welcome reminder that she did this to him; she deserves it.

The sound of someone calling her name distracts her from her bout of self-loathing as she looks up to find Lucas approaching them. Schooling his features to disguise his shock upon seeing Vega's bloodied collar, he drags his gaze over to Angie. Attempting to maintain an air of professionalism, he coughs as he withdraws a small notepad from his jacket; "I'm going to need your statement."

Oscar nods understandingly, briefly squeezing her fingers to offer his silent support as she inhales a shaky breath before offering her account. There's nothing particularly noteworthy about her statement; yes, she recognized the killer; no, she could not specifically pinpoint what made her the target; yes, she fired in self-defense and she'd be willing to cooperate in the event that more information was needed.

She finishes the last of her detailed account about the skirmish when she feels Oscar's grip tighten. Her words catch in her throat as she turns in time to watch Betty reset the misaligned appendage. A sympathetic grimace flashes across Angie's features as the soft crackling in his nose is drowned out by a guttural moan at the back of his throat. "Almost there," she offers quietly, uncertain if the words of comfort intended to console herself or Vega. The words are out almost before she can stop them, and a small glance from Betty leaves her feeling self-conscious, as if she's somehow overstepped an unspoken limit.

Glancing between around at her old friends, Angie's chest tightens in remorse as the weight of her choice comes crashing down. Somewhere along the way, she became selfish and protected herself against, all while she had the best support system in front of her. It's foolish, she knows, how she equates the simple act of him releasing her hand is with an immediate sense of grief. Especially, since he's merely accepting a damp towel to cleanse his face and hands, but the loss leaves her feeling hollow and unprotected.

"Stay home and rest," Betty orders, pointing an accusing finger at him as if scolding a mischievous young boy; "I never thought I would say this, but I don't want to see you here tomorrow." Angie stands beside them silently, watching as Betty moves in for a hug; a practiced movement as if this isn't the first time they've found solace in one another.

* * *

When Angie offers to drive him home, she easily admits to herself that her motivation is purely selfish; she can't let him out of her sight. While her decision to transfer had been under her own power, she can also readily admit that it didn't mean any less pain. Her decision to leave the unit - leave him - was based on the assumption that her absence would make things easier; it should have helped, but it didn't. Now she's six months behind and she's never felt more homesick.

The door is barely closed behind them when he desperately reaches out for her, dark jackets dropping to the floor in a forgotten heap. Dropping his chin into the hard line of her collarbone, his arms slide easily around her waist of her silk blouse. In return, her fingers find purchase against the fabric of his dress shirt, deeply digging into the cotton. The need between them frightens her because up until now, she's always been comfortable being alone. She can't place her finger on it, the indeterminable moment in time when he crept his way in and made a home for himself.

"God, I'm so-," Angie chokes, mumbling deep into his neck, voice cracking. Her incomplete apology washes over him as her lips move softly across his skin, tinged in a salty layer of sweat over the faint trace of crisp, rustic cologne. Enveloped in his arms, she can feel him tremble beneath her as his hands claw up her back, attaching himself to her as his chest shudders with a heavy sigh. "I missed you; was so afraid I would never see you again," she whispers thick with unshed tears.

The rumble of his words vibrate through both of them before the sound meets her ears; "I was afraid you'd come back, only to leave again." Underneath his grip, he feels her spine straighten in attempts to pull away. He knows his comment is a blow to her defenses, but this renewed bond needs to be forged in painful honesty. If not, then the little lies and moments of deceit will blossom into unforgivable transgressions. Unable to meet her gaze, his thumbs dig into her hips a little tighter as he speaks again; "I would pray that I fell asleep before I fell apart each night for months. My memories asked about you all the time, so I never really had a chance to miss you, but I couldn't take it if you left again."

Angie barely gives him a chance to finish before she springs back towards him, tightening the loop of her arms around his neck; crushing him to her, she clings to him as he lowers his forehead down to hers. When his eyes meet hers, she's reminded of the time she's lost; how his eyes, like the face of a clock, display the exact point in time when his heart stopped beating. Clawing her fingernails into his skin, up the back of his neck, she tugs at the dark curls until their breath becomes one.

Roughly assaulting her lips with his own, he swallows her gasp of surprise as his beard scrapes around her mouth, flinching through the pain as he pulls her impossibly close until the need for air separates them. The edges of her mouth and and chin bear the marks of him, sensitive skin painted pink by passion, as he runs the pad of his thumb over her swollen bottom lip. Gently kissing the corner of her shy pout, he trails his mouth up across her cheekbone, sighing into the swell of her earlobe.

Her nerves are alight with desire as her chin lowers timidly, blindly reaching for his hand to thread her fingers through his to lead him towards the bedroom. Stopping at the threshold, he steps around her, pulling him into the darkened room behind him. Stopping beside the edge of the bed, he pauses to take a moment to simply stare; his dark eyes dancing across her face, settling on her own wide pools of deep blue, as if she stole the color from the sky and claimed it for her own.

Gently enveloping her smaller hands, manipulating the digits as he explores the protrusions beneath the surface of her skin, he thumbs the bruising formed at her wrist by the attack earlier. The shadows of the room help to soften the stark glare of the purple developing beneath her porcelain flesh, almost as if to erase the events of the day with well-placed shadows.

Removing his own shirt, he tosses it behind him, not caring where it lands as he falls back to the edge of the mattress. Gazing longingly up at Angie as his strong hands sweep beneath the hem of her shirt, he liberates her of the sheer fabric and moves to her waist. His hands ghost up her ribcage, goose bumps erupting in their wake; sweeping softly back down her arms to stop at her hands resting at her waist. Threading his fingers into the gaps left by her own, he presses a feather light kiss to the bruise that mars her hip; letting go to lay his hands at the top of her jeans.

Before he can help her, Angie stills his hands with her own, running her fingers up to lightly trace the pads of her thumbs across the swells of his cheekbones. "I want this," she whispers, "I want you," she reiterates as she drags down her pant zipper, removing all doubt. Lightly pressing his lips to the soft curves of her trembling stomach, he shoots her an inquisitive look as he helps her step out of her boots and tight denim. "Tickles," she explains by way of scraping her nails through his beard.

She lowers her lips to his, a tingling sensation bubbling through him like fizz from champagne. Pushing lightly against his chest, their lips pop loudly in separation as he falls back against the down comforter, laughing as he kicks his shoes off impatiently. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she makes quick work of his trousers, gaze breaking away from his long enough cast an appreciative glance downward, then up once more as she straddles his hips.

Oscar gives her a second, then growls in frustration. "You're killing me," he mutters, releasing the metal clasp and dragging the dark straps from her shoulders; branding her with invisible scorch marks as he goes. Watching with fascination as the fair skin of her chest blushes with arousal, his mouth runs dry when her chest swells before him, bouncing erratically as her breath comes in stuttered bursts.

Feeling her pressed up against him, the last of the layers between them disappear quickly; Angie teasing him briefly before guiding him to her entrance. Slowly sinking, she stills in hopes to catch her breath before her movements become deliberate. The slightest shift of their hips has them gasping, nerves awakened and on fire as they discover their own tempo; ironic now, when he distinctly remembered hoping that this morning would be a chance for them to regain their rhythm.

The warm rays of the late afternoon sunset stream through the window, illuminating her in an ethereal glow; blonde curls highlighted in golden hues. Throwing her head back, Oscar watches intently as Angie's breathing hitches above him, chest glittering as evidence of their exertion catches in the muted light. Sliding his palms from her chest down to her hips, he digs his fingers deep into her waist before he flips them over; smirking in amusement as Angie gasps at the new position.

Guiding her knees higher on his hips in order to have a better angle, he covers her lips with his own as she moans loudly, unable to dampen her pleasure as the noise continues to break through. Lips fused and tongues dueling, the dam of emotion breaks as he pours endless love and frustration into the kiss. Unsuccessfully pulling away as she gently latches onto his bottom lip with her teeth, their breath mingles as one, and he can no longer tell where he ends and she begins.

Clenching Oscar's curls tight into her fist, Angie releases long enough to allow them a moment to inhale deeply. The movement thrusts her chest up into his, the heat of his solid chest above her inflaming her nerves once more. Moaning loudly, she's driven headlong into her climax; the sudden release forcing her to burrow her head back into the flare of golden locks on the pillow. Clawing down his back, tensing in satisfaction, ankles lock as Oscar grunts once more in her ear before following her towards his own release.

Riding the swell of emotion together, Angie's hold is steady as his elbows lock above her; stroking his solid biceps in reassurance when the muscles tremor in exhaustion. Carefully draping his lethargic body atop her as their heaving breaths fill the otherwise silent room, Oscar drops his forehead down to her rolling chest; small tufts of brown curls catching against her damp lips in the light breeze that escapes her.

While the erratic beating in her chest drums loudly in his ear, his brows furrow when he can still feel remnants of tension radiating from her satiated form. Part of him doesn't want to look; doesn't want to see the fear or regret etched upon her face that will only break him. However, the louder voice in his head has always been the concern he has for her; how her happiness and safety will always take precedence over his own desires.

Rolling his chin to get a better view of her face, Oscar watches her eyes blink open while she threads her fingers through his thick hair; burning scalp cooled as long nails brush his curls back. "I want you, Angie, but if this isn't -", he starts softly, falling silent when she interjects quickly.

"It is," Angie whispers, "Please don't doubt that." Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she struggles to express her concern; fingers stilling when she finally decides to voice what is on her mind. The words sit like pins and needles on the tip of her tongue before she releases them; "I'm just scared about how I feel about you; something I've never felt for anyone else."

Dropping his nose to her sternum, Oscar leisurely trails his lips higher and higher until he hovers just above hers. "Let me have you," he sighs, "through the thick and the thin," staking his claim with slow, deep kiss. Lazily moving his lips over hers, he can feel the soft beginnings of a smile as her fingers resume combing through his hair once more.

* * *

**Holy moly, it's been a week already! Who is ready for 3x02?! I am! So sorry for taking so long to post this; life has been rather hectic as of late (for everyone, right?) I'd like to take a moment to offer some ****quick "thank yous" for those of you that reviewed: **

_tiggerdavis1970: Thank you! I, too, hope they bring it back. No word yet, but the show's producers are supposedly working on trying to bring it back over the summer._

_Guest: I don't know who you are, but your review made me laugh ("Bloody hell!"). I love to bring Betty in where I can; she's a key player in their world._

_Skylarcat: Where do I begin? That premiere was epic, but I hope you're ready for round two. We are never going to make it through this season alive! Thanks for putting up with me, and this chapter is for you._

_AllThehingsThatSheSaid: Oh, how I've missed you. Haha, your review was great, too! Thanks for the support, and get a Yahoo Messenger account ASAP!_

_Dempeo4ever81: Thanks for checking this one out! Yes, ABC needs to bring it back! No word from them yet, but if they won't pick it up, hopefully another network will. I mean, really; who doesn't pick up the #1 Sunday evening program in Canada? Right?_


	3. Epilogue

**The Thick and The Thin: Epilogue/Chapter 3  
**

_Goose41_

Summary: A case may bring Angie back, but what makes her stay?

Author's Note: Neither the characters nor the premise upon which they are based belong to me.  
I'm merely using them to entertain myself and others.

Pairing: Venn - Oscar Vega/Angie Flynn

Category: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: Let's be honest, teens know more than adults about this stuff.  
For reader's sake: Mature (Note: Injuries and some fun)

* * *

The intrusive sound of a ringing phone draws Angie consciousness sometime later; the mattress shifting under the weight of sudden movement. Peeking through a curtain of curls, she catches a brief glimpse of her companion's broad shoulders; bare feet scuffing across the carpet until the incessant ringing is replaced by his voice, muffled by the bedroom door closing behind him.

Snatching the crisp linen of the bed sheet, Angie wraps it around her torso as she tiptoes mutely across the room in search of strewn clothing. The quiet, the stillness of the room, suffocates her in his absence; reminds her too much of their time apart.

A lull in the soft tones pique her interest, prompting her to postpone her search and investigate; the cool metal of the brass doorknob unable to calm her as the muted click of the latch reveals her partner's silhouette against the illuminated city. She can see the hard lines of tendons and muscles tighten across his back and tense up into his neck from the shadows, watching carefully as he sighs deeply when the call is disconnected.

Dropping the pile of garments at her feet, Angie's concern is immediate. Without turning, he can feel her hesitant strides; an inexplicable link between them telling him more than words ever could. If anything, he's learned the hard way how unreliable words can be. But they need them tonight; need to communicate what's been left unsaid for too long.

"This was a mistake," Oscar whispers, back still turned. The tension is palpable, hanging thickly between them.

Hugging herself tightly, Angie's chest momentarily stills as her breath catches at his words. When the burn in her lungs reminds her to breathe, she finally huffs in embarrassment and her faces flushes. Toes tightening in tension against the carpet, the dam of emotion strains within her; breaks free with the last soft snaps of stiff joints.

"I've made a lot of them, but this will never be one," Angie replies hoarsely. Shrugging the linen higher, she continues toward him; close enough now that she can make out the faint shiver that ripples through him at the sound of her voice. "You probably want nothing to do with me, but I don't want anyone else to have you without -"

Quickly turning on her, he hides it well if he's surprised by her close proximity at all. "No," Oscar growls roughly; "God, no. Angie, it's always been you. 8 A.M. coffee, 6 P.M. precinct dinners, and calls to scenes in the middle of the night - you should have been there for all of them." Swallowing thickly, he chooses his next words carefully as his words wash over her. "My mistake was never chasing after you."

Angie's vision blurs with unshed tears as she steps into him, absorbing the warmth radiating off of him in a beacon of desire and affection as she leans in closer like a ship drawn to the shore. She knows she doesn't have the right words, so she remains silent; simply listening to the air move in and out of their chests in the still of the evening.

His arms come around her, lightly at first, before folding her tighter into his embrace. Words and touches, the mere presence of him binds her tighter than any rope ever could, and harbors her in safety amidst the storms of her mind. Through the thick and thin, he weathers every crashing wave and gust of wind with quiet fortitude.

"I'm so tired," he feels her mumble into the swell of his throat. With certainty, he can say that it's not the lateness of the hour, but the energy she's put into building walls and running away that has finally caught up with her. Securing his hold, he lifts her with confidence and walks her back towards the bedroom; slowly sinking into the disheveled offering of warmth and comfort in the awaiting mattress.

The glow of the clock on the bedside table illuminates Angie's gentle smile as she rolls over him, tucking the bedding around both of them as she checks the time. Her mental and physical exhaustion fooled her mind into believing it was much later, but now she's awake. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she bites back a grin as she meets his gaze once more; nails scraping lightly down Oscar's trembling chest towards the elastic of his boxer shorts with fingertips skirting near the edge as they begin to dip lower.

"I thought you were tired," Oscar quips softly; the corner of his eyes crinkling in quiet laughter.

Dropping her lips to his, Angie's mouth traces over his; her bright smile mingling with the beard at his chin. "Not of this," she whispers, as her hand disappears.

* * *

**If you're in Canada, or a lucky US viewer, can I just say: I hope you are still alive! This season has been insane so far, but I'm loving every second. Thank you to those of you that read, and please review! It's food for the soul - really, it goes a long way for writers, so please review! Again, a quick thank you to my reviewers: **

_Skylarcat: Thank you for your review! Glad you enjoyed it, lol. Anything else I can do for you?  
_

_Dempeo4ever81: Hopefully this will hold you over until something new comes along. Thanks for hanging around and reviewing :)_


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